


I Ain't no Prodigal Son

by h0tbl00ded



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Twinkies, daryl kicks the crap out of malcolm for being a little shit, its all pain ngl, strangers to enemies to frenemies to friends to maybe they'll fuck i havent decided yet, tw abuse mention, tw everyones an asshole, tw self harm mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0tbl00ded/pseuds/h0tbl00ded
Summary: The zombie apocalypse happened, Merle died, Daryl left the group to deal with his shit. He rescues some scrawny idiot who turns out to be Malcolm Bright, and a pain in the fucking ass.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Malcolm Bright, but not for like a really long time because they kinda hate each other a little bit at first
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	I Ain't no Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. this exists. uh. Let me know if you like it I guess. This shit aint beta read, btw so if I fucked up lemme know that too

Some folks are born made to wave the flag  
Ooh they're red, white and blue  
And when the band plays Hail to the Chief  
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

It ain't me, it ain't me  
I ain't no senator's son, son  
It ain't me, it ain't me  
I ain't no fortunate one, no

He hadn't heard that song since this bullshit started, but damned if he couldn't get it out of his head. Hell, he was even humming along because after all, he was alone in the woods. 

Once Merle had died, he couldn't be around other people. Yeah, his brother was one of the shit stains of the world, but he was still his fucking brother, for fucks sake. And he sure as shit didn't need to go out the way he did, turning into one of the damn walkers. 

He hadn't even said goodbye to Rick and them, he didn't have the heart to. He took his shit, and he fucking left. He headed north, the opposite of where they had said they were going to go. He'd made it through Atlanta, through Richmond, and now he was heading towards his final destination: Boston. Why Boston, he didn't know. It would be the farthest north he'd been from home. 

Home. That was what he called it but fuck, it never felt like a home. A couple of trailers in a white trash trailer park with white trash people, Confederate flags strung up on trucks, sunburnt backs and tobacco stained fingers. A shitty father, a nonexistent mother, and a brother who taught him the ways of the world. A brother who deserved better than what he got. Not too much better, but better. 

"Fuck." He mumbled, wiping his face on his arm. He'd never allow himself to get so upset if he wasn't alone. He huffed, plopping down on a rock, and setting his gear down. He was on a hill, overlooking a small city, and he could see everything he needed to. Where the herd was, where the medical building was located, hell, he was even sure he saw a fuckin' Foxy Lady. Wouldn't that be a sight, walker baristas. He stifled a laugh because fuck, that was stupid. And dark. Goddamn he's fucked in the head. 

He didn't really need to go into the city, in all honesty. He has all the food he needs in the forests, the same goes for water. He's even found some stills in the backwoods, near clean water. There isn't a reason he should go in there, and risk his life. 

Well. He could loot the city, leave the shit that he found in a pile for someone else, save them the trouble. He really didn't feel like it, though. Daryl sighed, laying flat on his back, staring up at the sky. He covered his eyes with his hand, blocking the sun from his light-sensitive eyes. Truth was, he's fucking bored. Going through a city would alleviate that, but he wasn't so bored that he wanted to commit suicide. Yet. 

Nah, he'd never do that. He's not the type. Too scared, or too proud, he's not sure. He huffed again, wiping his face, and sitting up once more. The walkers, they were acting weird. Hanging around a particular building, what looked like a restaurant. Someone was probably stuck. Shit. Daryl stood up, grabbing his bag and his crossbow, trying to assess the situation. Looked to be about twenty walkers. A couple of exits, lots of glass windows that would shatter under the constant pressure sooner than later. Fuck it. He could probably make it. 

So there he was, shuffling down the hill, making up a plan as he went. He found a car, killed the walker inside, hot wired it, and drove it to main street. From there, he turned the radio - static - all the way up, put a brick in the gas, and it slowly drove itself down the road. It caught the walkers attention, and as he sneaked off behind a gas station, he could hear the walkers groans move, following the sputtering of the motor. Good. He held his crossbow up, and made his way to the restaurant, staying low, staying quiet. He opened the backdoor, and was immediately knocked on his ass by a swiftly moving object. He yelped, and assuming it was a walker, threw it off of him. Sure enough, it groaned. He pulled his knife out, intent on killing it. 

"No no wait! I'm not one of them!" it - he, scuttled away, just out of stabbing reach, holding his hands up. "Please, I'm Malcolm. Malcolm Bright."

"Fuck kinda name is that?" Daryl growled, putting the knife away, and getting to his feet. It wasn't a serious question, he was just covering for himself. The walkers no doubt heard the commotion, so he lifted his chin at the guy. "Got anyone else?" 

"No, it's just me. I'm kind of a loner. Making friends isn't exactly my forte." He smiled, like he was trying to placate Daryl. It didn't work. 

"Didn't ask for your fuckin' life story, man. Come on." the guy looked harmless enough, might as well get him on his feet, send him Rick's way. He helped him up, not at all surprised by how soft his hands were. 

"Wait, where are we going? Who are you?" 

"Away from th' walkers. An' I'm the guy who just saved your fuckin' life, so shut the hell up and follow me." Daryl led him out of the city, nearly running into the herd, but a couple quick swipes with a knife and they got away fairly easily, running back into the woods. The whole time, he could feel Malcolm's gaze on him. It was fucking weird. It felt like he wasn't just looking at Daryl, it felt like he was looking through him. 

He hated it. 

He stumbled upon a clearing, and once Daryl set up a tin can perimeter, he set his stuff down, and started to make a small ring of rocks, for a fire. Malcolm was pacing, and Daryl took the time to get a good look at him. He had the remnants of a suit on, it looked nice to Daryl, but what did he know. His eyes were freaky as fuck, all big and wide and bright. Looked like a fucking rich bitch to him. 

Not that Daryl supposed he looked any better, all sweaty, grimy, covered in blood. 

"What are you doing? Can I help?" 

"Making a fire. Go get some of them branches over there, they look dry enough." He grabbed his flint and steel, and began to make a nest for the fire, creating sparks, and gently blowing on them. By the time Malcolm returned with the wood, he had a small flame going, and together they worked to make a crackling campfire. They sat on the ground, staring at it for a few minutes in silence. Finally, Daryl spoke. "Daryl Dixon. S'my name."

"Alliterative name, like a superhero." He must have seen the bewildered expression upon Daryl's face, because he cleared his throat. "Oh, a name where the first two letters are the same. Reed Richards. Peter Parker."

"Was more of a Conan the Barbarian kid." 

"Ah. My mother never let me read those - she claimed they were too violent." He looked embarrassed as soon as he said it, and Daryl let it go. For now. Instead, he just grunted. "Thank you for saving me, Daryl."

"Not a big deal. Saw someone stuck, figured if I help, it's one less walker to ice." 

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose. I don't think you're telling me the truth, though." 

Daryl looked up to find a very earnest expression on the others face. Not that it pissed him off any less. "Oh yeah? Fuck makes you think you're in any place to say shit like that?" 

"I'm aware, we just met each other. But I think you're a better person than you let on."

"You don't know me. Fuckin' weirdo." He muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest. 

"No. But I have guesses. It was my job, before it happened. I was a profiler, I would see a crime scene, and using statistics and clues, create a profile that the killer would match." Malcolm shrugged, neatly folding his hands in his lap. "I was the best at my job."

"Fuck does that have to do with me? Ain't a serial killer."

"No. But, my knowledge applies to everyone. A lot of it is mere observation." 

Daryl grunted, not quite believing him. But then again, it sounds a lot like how he tracks people and things. Seeing the patterns on the ground, how deep the tracks are, disturbances in the leaves. 

"Do you want me to prove it? Because, heh. I can do that very easily." 

Daryl gave him a dark look, but he nodded. Not like they had anything better to do. 

"Alright, let's see, start with some obvious things. The accent, I'd say Atlanta area, not in the city though, you don't look like a city boy." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "No, of course not, someone from the city wouldn't be as comfortable out here as you are. I'd know, actually. I kind of hate the woods. Bad experiences there."

"What, a camping trip gone wrong?" 

"More than you could ever guess." He pressed his lips together, looking down at the ground. "My father tried to kill me."

Daryl froze, but he made himself relax. "That's fucked. No dad should ever-" he cut himself off before he said something stupid. The wound from his recent loss was making him weak. Fuck you, Merle. "-Anyways." 

"Hmm. Yeah. See now that's confirming something else, because when you got up, your shirt pulled back because the strap was caught on it, and I thought I saw scars indicative of-" 

"-If you know what's good for you, you'll shut the fuck up right now." Daryl growled, and before he knew it, he was in a defensive stance, much like a wild animal. Wouldn't be the first time he's felt this way, every sense on alert, his every instinct screaming at him to run. 

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. I can get carried away." His voice was soft, softer than it had any right to be. His hands were up in surrender again, and Daryl nodded, returning to his curled up position. "But… You do know a reaction like that isn't good, right?" 

"Mmh. Don't care. The dead are walkin' around, don't have time to think about shit that happened in the past." Daryl huffed, looking away. "Pretty damn sure a hand tremor ain't good, either."

In his peripheral vision, he could see that Malcolm was stunned, hiding his trembling hand in his lap. "I know. It's… A tic. I had meds for different stuff, but, heh. No more pharmacies. Don't worry, they weren't for anything bad, just anxiety, ptsd, things like that."

"As long as you don't fuck off on me in the middle of a life or death situation, we're good. And don't fucking ask about my-" He bit his own words off, shaking his head. "You know what."

"Trust me, I learned my lesson there." He took a breath, and Daryl could feel that fucking gaze again. Creep. "Um, well. I'm from New York." it felt like a peace offering, and Daryl begrudgingly accepted it, giving him a nod. 

“Haven’t been.”

“You’re honestly not missing much. Well, nowadays, I mean. I hate to go through big cities, there’s giant groups of those - what did you call them - walkers? I thought I was safe in this one.”

Daryl shrugged again. “Went through Atlanta an’ Richmond no problem. Just gotta know what you’re doing.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t. I won’t lie to you, I’ve been taken care of my whole life. There’s always someone there.” He looked ashamed, hanging his head. “You probably don’t think much of me.”

“Nope. As far as I’ve seen, you’re a nosy asshole. Was gonna help you get out of there, an’ send you down south. There’s a group down there that’d take you in.” Daryl snorted, pulling out a pack of smokes. “No way in hell you’d make it.” He lit the cigarette on the campfire, and inhaled the toxic smoke, resting his arms on his knees. 

“A group? Did you used to be with them?”

“Yeah. I left.” A giant pang of guilt hit him, as well as a wave of longing. He missed Carol. A lot. She probably hated him for leaving. He took another breath of the smoke, and stared at the back of his left hand. Lately, he’d taken to occasionally putting out cigarettes there, the harsh pain snapping him out of whatever funk he was in. There were three marks there from him doing that, though one was much, much darker than the others. 

He tore himself out of those thoughts, aware that Malcolm was staring at him again. He cracked his knuckles, and finished smoking his cigarette.

“When’s the last time you slept, kid?”

“Um. Heh, well, a week ago. But I never got much sleep before, so I’m good.”

“Like hell you are. I’ll take first watch tonight.” 

Malcolm gave him a strange look, different from his usual bullshit. “Protective instincts?”

Daryl threw a pebble at him. “I told you to stop with that shit. Don’t analyze me.” He huffed, flicking his cigarette into the fire. Dude was fucking annoying. 

Malcolm thankfully shut up, and he picked at his threadbare button-up, pulling strings loose. Daryl sighed again, but he grabbed his pack, and pulled out another button up shirt, this one was black and short sleeved. “Here. I’m way bigger than you, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t fit.”

Malcolm took it from him, and quickly changed, doing and undoing buttons with expert fingers. Daryl watched, and he saw scars. Old ones, looked like stab wounds. Seems about right, he’s a pretty stab-able guy. He merely raised an eyebrow, and looked away. “Thank you. Really.”

“Mmh. I want it back, we’ll hit a store sometime.”

“We? You’re taking me with you?” 

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“No. Not at all.” Malcolm was smiling, and Daryl opened his mouth to say something else, but his head snapped to the side, the sound of cans jingling setting every nerve on edge. A walker, alone, desperately clawing its way to them. Malcolm gasped, and they both got to their feet.

“Stay here.” Daryl took a bolt off of his crossbow, and calmly walked over to the creature, slamming it through it’s skull. He looked around, searching for signs of others, but it seemed to just be this one. He ripped his bolt out, and went back to the fire, sitting back down with a sigh. Malcolm hesitantly followed suit, watching Daryl with an awed expression.

“How long have you been out here?”

“Dunno. Couple weeks. A month, maybe.”

“On your own?”

“I’m better on my own.”

“Clearly.” Malcolm gave a little shake of his head, picking at some skin on his thumb. Daryl could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears, he was thinking so hard.

“Y’really can’t fuckin’ stop, can you?”

“No. Back before it all happened, it was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going in in this world. Now, it’s the way I ground myself. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Y’shouldn’t.” Daryl shrugged. “It’s annoying as shit, but you gotta do what you gotta do, man.” As he said that, the cigarette burns on his hand seemed to warm up, so he rubbed his hand on his pants, trying to shove the feeling away. 

“So.” Malcolm sighed, clearly agitated. “Can I just ask, then? Things about you? Because I need to let it out, Dary, ple-”

“-Fine. Jus’ don’t expect me to answer all of them.”

“Fair enough. Okay, what were you? Because that’s the one thing I can’t figure out. At first, I thought maybe law enforcement, or former military. The whole saving me thing, and you seem to have no issue with killing. But you don’t have the attitude. With your crossbow, I thought you were a professional hunter. But, no offense intended, you don’t come from that place of society.”

“Ain’t the first time a rich asshole called me white trash.” Daryl gave him a wry smile, to show that he hadn’t taken any offense at all. 

“So then I thought mechanic maybe, or an electrician, or a firefighter. You’re fearless, and there’s a chance that you might want a job that helps people, after what looks to be a past of people hurting you.” Malcolm licked his lips, placing his hands on his knees. “That’s the best I can do.”

“Mmh. Mechanic was the closest, I guess. Wasn’t anything. Jus’a drifter, hangin’ out with my brother an’ his friends.” His voice didn’t crack when he mentioned his brother, that was progress. 

“Drifter… what exactly does that entail?”

“Mostly, y’know. Fuckin’ off. Drinkin’, smokin’, fightin’. Gettin’ into trouble, a lot. Lots of campin’ trips, huntin’. I liked to work on bikes.” Daryl choked out a laugh, drawing his knees up to his chest. The way he missed his brother hit him like a shotgun blast to the chest. He bit down the lump that was swelling in his chest, ducking his head. 

Malcolm nodded, and he seemed more relaxed. “Wow. That’s… very different from how I lived. It actually sounds nice, all that freedom.”

“It was. Could do whatever the hell I wanted to do. No different than right now.”

“I keep forgetting that. I actually, heh, I used the crosswalks. In that town I was in, I used the crosswalks.” Malcolm laughed, and Daryl couldn’t help but chuckle too, at how ridiculous that was. 

“Well. Should stop that. I mean, c’mon, you’ve never done anything illegal?”

“No! Well. I stabbed my father. I’ve lied, committed identity fraud, but it was for the NYPD, so.”

“That shit don’t count. And your dad probably fuckin’ deserved it, from the sounds of it.”

“That he did. What about you? What have you done?”

Daryl bit his lip. “Before or after?”

“Before. Circumstances in this world are different.”

“Aight. Uh, underage drinking, smoked pot. Bootlegged some shine a couple times. ‘Bout it.”

“Really?” Shock was evident upon his face, and a sour feeling rose in Daryl’s stomach.

“What, you thought I was some kinda convict?” his voice was deeper than it was before, nearly animalistic. He didn’t care.

“Well, no. You don’t have the attitude. But I thought for sure… nevermind.” Malcolm looked away, his face turning red.

“No, you’re the one who wanted to talk, so fuckin’ talk!” Daryl snarled.

“You know what, fine!” Malcolm frowned at Daryl, and his knuckles cracked. “I’m glad you’re taking me with you, but I can’t do this if you keep taking your shit out on me! I don’t know who you lost, if I had to guess I’d say your brother, and if I had to guess how he died, I’d say he got turned into a walker! That’s no goddamn excuse to-” Daryl had leapt over the fire, and delivered a hard blow to the side of his jaw, a loud cracking sound ringing through the woods. 

“You don’t know fuckin’ shit, man!” He yelled, climbing on top of Malcolm, smacking his flailing hands away, and pinning them to the ground. “You weren’t there! You’re just some dumb fuck, you don’t fuckin’ know, man!” He got right in Malcolm's face, his hair covering his eyes. “You don’t fuckin’ know me, okay?!” 

Malcolm stopped struggling, and looked up with defiant eyes. “I do, actually. It’s my job to know people. You’ve got daddy issues written all over you - Jesus Christ!” 

Daryl had headbutted his face, causing blood to spurt over the both of them. “Don’t you fucking dare. You have no goddamn place.”

“Neither did he, I’m guessing. Tell me, what did he use? Willow? Pine? Birch?” He yelped as Daryl kneed him in the stomach, bearing down with all of his weight. 

But then, the cans rustled again. Three walkers, reaching out to them with their spindly arms and gaping mouths. Daryl got up, kicked Malcolm in the ribs, and grabbed his crossbow. One broke the line, so he grabbed his knife, and hurled it into the things head. Then one, two bolts, and other others were down in a swift cracking sound. He grabbed his weapons from the corpses, and stalked back to the fire. “We should go. They probably heard us. I’ll leave the fire, so they’ll go to that, rather than us.” His words were cold and clipped. He grabbed his bag, tucked his knife back into his sheath, and went back into the woods, not bothering to check if he was okay. 

He knew he was, though. He hadn’t broken anything. If Daryl wanted to break something, he would have. Sure enough, he heard Malcom’s footsteps behind him, and he gave a small sigh of relief. He was starting to really hate the guy, but… still. It was good that he was following. 

Soon enough, they found a small house with a huge backyard. Daryl cleared it out, while Malcolm went inside the bathroom, presumably to clean himself up. Daryl should probably do the same, he was covered in walker guts and Malcolm’s blood. He found a sink in the kitchen, and set his stuff down, turning the water on. The pipes creaked and groaned, but water came flowing out of the tap, crystal clear and cool. He stuck his head under the stream, drinking as much as he could, before coming up and gasping for air. Then he did it again, this time rubbing all of the grime off of his face, and his hands. The water going down the drain turned a nasty shade of brown, but he already felt better. 

His knuckles were bruised from punching Malcolm, so he let the cold water run over his skin, resting his head on the edge of the sink. After a while, he found a towel and dried himself off, rubbing it through his hair, knowing damn well it would be sticking up all over the place when he was done. 

“Daryl… I…”

Daryl turned, and Malcolm was there, holding a towel to his face. “What?”

“Need your help. Can’t get my nose clean, it hurts too much.”

“Sit down. I’ll take care of it.” Malcolm sat on a chair, and Daryl took the rag from him, tipping his chin back, and wiping his nose, trying to ignore the little flinches coming from him.

“I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“I’ll agree with you there. Though, I’ll give you credit, I’ve never been hit that hard. Can’t imagine how much it would hurt if you hadn’t held back.” 

Daryl swallowed down a pang of guilt, and just nodded his head. He finished cleaning Malcolm up, then quickly checked him over, lifting his wrists, checking for broken ribs, gently prodding the side of his jaw. 

“My wrists will be fine. I slept with cuffs on before this all happened, I built up a tolerance, I guess.” Malcolm took the rag back, and they stayed like that for a while, neither could bear to meet the others eyes. There was too much guilt between the two of them. 

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah. My dad…” Malcolm hesitated, eyeing Daryl’s hands. “He was a serial killer. The Surgeon?”

Daryl nodded, he’d seen that on the news when he was a teen, he’d laughed. Felt bad for the dude’s kid. Now, he really feels bad for him. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me. And it’s not like I’m worried about you killin’ me in my sleep. I’ve already proven that I’ll win.” 

“Fair point.” Malcolm breathed out a lighthearted laugh, and he gave Daryl a smile, lifting his head up to look at him, and then his expression changed to one of wonder. “Whoa.”

“What?”

“Nothing you just… Look like a kid. That, and you’re clean. Your eyes are very blue.” 

Daryl huffed, then he ducked his head, and turned away, hiding his face from Malcolm. “Mmh. I’m gonna find us somethin’ t’ eat. You uh, mind boardin’ up the windows?”

“No, of course not.” Malcolm left him in peace to rummage through the cupboards, and he ended up finding a bunch of canned soup, along with some twinkies. By the time Malcolm was done, Daryl had the woodfire oven working, the soup was warming up, and he was on the counter, shoving a twinkie into his mouth. 

“Wan’ one?” He asked through a mouthful, holding one out.

“Normally I’d say no, but… sure.” Malcolm accepted the treat, and slowly opened it, chewing on it with a bemused smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had one of these.”

“Damn. Your childhood really hfucked upf.” He finished swallowing, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “These are staples of a childhood, man.”

“They’re sweet, is what they are…” Malcolm smiled, then mimicked Daryl - shoving the rest of it into his mouth. “Mebbe fe schoo-” He swallowed hastily, clearing his throat. “Maybe we should do things like that. You could show me what I’ve missed being cooped up in my high castle.”

“You ain’t a princess.”

“Tell that to my parents. Seriously, Daryl. You said we could do whatever we wanted, you’re used to doing that. So, lets.”

Daryl frowned at him, considering. “Kinda stuff you thinkin’ about doin’?” 

“That’s the point! I don’t know!” Malcolm grinned, attempting to hop up on the counter next to Daryl but failing, he was too short. Daryl grabbed him by the back of the shirt and hoisted him up next to him. “What do you want to do?”

“Hmm.” Daryl stirred the soup, scratching his neck. “Dunno. Kinda want to go see the ocean. Get drunk and pass out on the beach.”

“So let's do that!”

“Kinda far away.”

“Daryl. You came from Atlanta. The beach is like, a quarter of that. Please?”

“Mmh. Maybe. Grab bowls.”

Malcolm did, and Daryl spooned soup into both of them. He quickly dug in, burning his tongue. Figures. 

“We could go to D.C.”

“Why would we go there?”

“There’s a museum. Several, really big, really cool ones. The white house, everything else that’s there.”

“No way. Government’s supposedly holed up there, which means there’ll be walkers.”

“They wouldn’t be in the same area as all of the cool stuff.”

“Maybe. Doubt it.” Daryl gave up on using the spoon, and just drank straight from the bowl, chewing happily. “We could walk by, and see, I guess.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Maloclm smiled, and they finished their meal in silence, the younger of the two swinging his legs back and forth. A dark bruise was starting to form on his jaw, and Daryl felt a twinge of guilt every fucking time he looked at it. 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, they didn’t really have anything to say to each other. Or, they had too much to say, and both were afraid of crossing an invisible line. Daryl sat in a windowsill as the sun set, and Malcolm curled up on the couch, falling asleep rather quickly. 

Daryl kept an eye on him, and at one point, when Malcolm was getting too fidgety for his liking, he grabbed a couple blankets and draped them over him, crouching next to him, worried. But, that seemed to settle him down, and he started to snore a little, his hair sticking to his face. 

Daryl decided to just stay there, sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, keeping alert for the rest of the night. Today had been a rough fucking day, and hopefully tomorrow would go easier.


End file.
